


Ariadne and Theseus

by rosamonds



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosamonds/pseuds/rosamonds
Summary: Johanna Mason is back from her victory tour and is planning a future with her girlfriend, Eila. But Johanna hasn't exactly made friends with the people in power and the 71st Hunger Games are here. Suddenly, Johanna has a lot more to lose in her mentoring job than she bargained for.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason/Original Female Character(s), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Part One The 71st: 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I've had this idea for a while now and I thought I'd just put it out there. Apologies in advance for my overenthusiastic love of commas. Also! this doesn't match the canon timeline, in this Johanna won the 70th Games rather than the 71st

“So, Johanna Mason,” Flickerman grins, “what’s next for you?”  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I answer his question with a question and the crowd goes wild.  
“You certainly do keep us on our toes!”  
I don’t say anything, just smirk and keep my chin tilted high. They won’t get any simpering humble bullshit from me. I won the fucking Hunger Games. These Capitol born and bred idiots will never do anything half as impressive in their lifetimes and I won’t pretend like I don’t know it.

“You need to be careful, kid,” Blight warns me. “They’ll get tired of you sooner with that attitude.”  
I shrug. Who fucking cares what those airheads think, they can’t touch me now.  
“Whatever,” I say, putting my feet up on the table. “That was the last stop anyway.” Blight doesn’t say anything. Gorge, my escort purses her lips, but she knows better than to reprimand me. She’s gonna be glad when the next reaping comes around and she’s freed from my bad manners.

When we pull in at 7, the cameras are already waiting for us. But I don’t care about them, I barely even see them. Because, standing front and center, there she is: Eila Oake, my girlfriend. I leap out of the train and she runs forward to kiss me. The cameras love it, I can already hear Flickerman commenting on us in the reruns. But I don’t care, we stay here for as long as they let us. The Mayor finally interrupts us, asking if he can walk me to dinner. I grin, the dark red lipstick I wore for this exact purpose smudged all around my mouth like blood.  
“With pleasure,” I say, winking at Eila over my shoulder.

After dinner we sneak away to my empty house in the Victor’s Village. I know my mother won’t be home for hours so we don’t bother going to my room. Instead we sit on the sofa, and I run my fingers through her long auburn hair.  
“I missed you,” I say quietly, dropping the bitch act.  
“I missed you, too,” she whispers.  
“I’m never going to leave you again,” I promise.  
“You’ll have to mentor,” she whispers, like maybe if she says it quietly enough it won’t be true. “Yeah,” I say, “but that’s only a couple months a year. The rest of the time we’ll be together.” She hums in agreement and I let myself imagine our future. Our quiet life hidden away in this big house, I won’t have to mentor every year, some years we’ll be able to pretend the Games don’t exist. We won’t have to work. We won’t have kids to worry about, or anyone to worry about for that matter. It’ll just be me and her. I feel almost free.

My mother stumbles in long after we have gone to bed, but I can’t sleep anyway. I hear her vomiting into the kitchen sink. My whole body tenses with how much I hate her. I want to let her deal with herself, let her crumple halfway up the stairs and give herself a stiff neck. I don’t care.  
‘Johanna?’ I hear her croaking. I squeeze my eyes shut. She calls out again. I push the blankets off myself, careful not to wake Eila, and make my way downstairs.

The smell of vomit and alcohol hits me as I enter the kitchen and turn the lights on, but having spent my entire childhood cleaning up after her wild nights out it barely affects me anymore.  
“Johanna,” she smiles weakly, “you’re home,”  
“Hi mom,” I reply, filling her a glass of water and handing it to her. She’s so out of it she can’t formulate much more conversation so I just help her upstairs and change her clothes and get her into bed. She falls asleep immediately, that’s why she drinks, I think. No nightmares. But I’d rather have nightmares than this. She looks better sleeping. I stroke the coarse brown hair, same as mine, out of her face and try to reckon with my conflicting feelings. She saved me, really. Not my mentor, not the trainers, her. She was the one who told me “make sure they don’t know what you can do before it’s too late.” I wouldn’t have won without her. I wouldn’t be able to look forward to a future of any kind.  
“Good night, mom,” I whisper, before going back to my own bed, to another night of sleepless dreams.

I see their faces when I go to sleep, bloodied and marred by my axe. I see their parents, watching me do it. I see Eila watching me, disgusted, afraid. I want her to take my axe and drive it into my skull, I want her to kill me before I kill her but again and again I watch my steady hands pick up the weapon and run towards her and she's calling my name, begging me not to. Screaming, screaming, screaming.

“Johanna!” Eila shakes me awake and I realise it was me screaming. I sit up and gasp for air, my whole body trembling. “I’m sorry.”my voice is hoarse.  
“It’s okay,” Eila assures me, “you're okay,” She runs a hand through my short hair. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?” I shake my head.  
“Why don’t you go and have a shower and I’ll make breakfast, okay?” she puts a hand on my cheek and I manage to nod. She gets up and gets dressed and I let my head fall back on my pillow and stretch my hands up in front of my face. The things I’ve done with these hands. They're covered in tiny scars, cuts from brambles and barbed wire, and my palms are rough and calloused. I press them onto my eyes until I see stars, sick to my stomach.

Eila tries to be cheerful, not in an obnoxious way, just trying to keep a brave face. I don't know how to tell her that I’m not the same girl who she said goodbye to after the reaping. I can't explain the invisible scars that cover my still frail body. She never asks me about the Games and I don’t bring it up. We try to pretend it never happened even while sitting in the house that is my reward. “I love you, Jo,” she tells me quietly, putting her hand palm up on the table, the hand of a merchants daughter, uncalloused, unscarred. Her hand that hasn’t killed. I take it and she squeezes it, “It’s you and me, alright? Forever,”  
“Yeah,” I say, “I love you too.”


	2. The 71st: 2

Despite my nightmares and my mom’s drinking, we manage to find a rhythm. Eila cooks and I clean. When it’s sunny we sit in the garden and she tells me the stories her grandmother used to tell. She’s a born storyteller and, listening to her, I almost believe that there is good in the world. The nightmares don’t get better but they get fewer, some nights I manage to get a full eight hours sleep. Though I still wake up exhausted and my bones feel fragile, I feel some of my strength returning.

One night, after my mom staggers home particularly late I go to meet her in the kitchen and she can't stop coughing. I call the doctor but she just shakes her head, she needed to have been called months earlier to do anything, the sickness has rooted itself too deep to be stopped.

It's a small funeral. I don't cry. Eila is white faced, clenching her jaw and holding my hand so tight I feel it going numb. I know she's thinking about the day she buried her family. She was the only one of them who survived the outbreak that took my father. I shake hands with my mom’s friends. They offer condolences and help if I need it, but condolences won’t bring her back and we all know I’m richer than all of them combined.

The big empty house feels bigger and emptier now. I stand at the stove while the kettle boils and boils but I never make the tea. “I should have called the doctor long ago, I knew something was wrong, I should have asked her about it,” I say and my voice doesn't sound like my own. “It isn't your fault.” Eila turns the stove off and holds my face in her hands. “I should've been better to her, I should’ve been kinder.” Eila shakes her head and wraps her arms around me, “She knew you loved her, Jo, I promise.” I can't be so sure.

As the reaping creeps closer and closer I start to feel itching under my skin. I feel trapped in the house and exposed outside. Eila tells me it's the anniversary effect, that there's nothing to worry about but I feel her anxiety too. It's her last year being eligible for the Games, she's never had to take tessera so her name is only in there 7 times but people have been picked with better odds. I try to banish the thought from my mind, but the threat is always there. The nightmares get bad again. I’m the only female victor and I’ll have to mentor, the thought makes me so sick I can’t eat.

When the day finally arrives, I don’t want to let go of Eila as she signs in. She has to pry her fingers out of mine. “It’ll be okay,” she promises, giving me a quick kiss. ”The odds are in our favor.”  
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek until it bleeds.

Blight leads me up to the stage and sits me down next to the mayor.  
“Deep breaths now, kid,” he says, “this is the worst bit yet.”

Gorge, her skin dyed ever so slightly orange, unsteadily makes her way to the podium on shoes so high she’s practically en pointe. “Happy Hunger Games,” she trills, “and may the odds be ever in your favor,” I catch Eila’s eye and she smiles reassuringly, I try to take Blight’s advice but every breath feels insufficient, no matter how deep.  
“And now,” Gorge announces, “for the female tribute,” she makes her way over to the great glass bowl and picks a slip with her taloned fingers. She totters back to the microphone and clears her throat.  
“The female tribute from district 7…” I could throttle her, the way she drags this out like she’s announcing the winner of a pageant.

“Eila Oakes!”

My blood runs cold, I think for a second that my heart has actually stopped. Blight puts a strong hand on my knee and tells me to breathe but I can’t. I can hear my blood rushing in my ears and I think I might pass out. Eila, my Eila, makes her way bravely through the parting crowd to stand next to Gorge. I don’t even see her tremble. I can’t move, my throat is swelling up and I feel like I might be sick. Gorge shoots me a worried look, and that’s all it takes. I will not be pitied. I will not show weakness to the Capitol. I take a shuddering breath and straighten my back, steeling my stare. The male tribute is called and I don’t even hear his name. I don’t care. I hope he dies first.

She clings to me the second I meet her in the visiting room. She holds me so tight it hurts. She’s terrified. I’m terrified.  
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, “you’re clever and strong and you can take a punch you can fight,” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more, me or her. She’s white faced and trembling and can’t even nod or shake her head.  
“I did well last year so maybe the careers will take you in, okay? We’ll figure something out it’ll be okay,”  
The peacekeeper raps on the door and tells us it’s time to get on the train.  
“Listen to me,” I tell her, “Eila, listen, I need to be strong now. I need you to pretend you’re not scared, just like you did earlier, okay? Please, for me,” she nods woodenly and straightens her back, taking a deep breath to calm her trembling hands.  
“Hold on to me,” I tell her and she does. I honestly don’t know if she’s even aware of what's going on around her, she’s like a sleepwalker. But she looks detached and cool on camera, and that’s exactly what she needs. We make it to the train and lock ourselves in her room.

“I can’t survive this, Jo,” she croaks after an hour of her sitting upright on the bed with me pacing around the room.  
“You will,” I say, “you have to,”  
“I can’t, Jo, I don’t want to,”  
“What do you mean you don’t want to?” I turn on my heel and stare at her.  
“I—” she drops her head into her hands and starts to sob. I can feel reality slipping out from underneath me, the room is spinning. I sit down next to her and rub her back.  
“It’s you and me, Eiles, forever, that’s what we said, right? It’s you and me. It’s gonna be okay,”

We lie awake all night. It’s a long drive to the Capitol and I hope it never ends. Neither of us says anything. What could we say? I hold her hands in my and she cries sometimes. I wish I could cry. Instead I feel completely numb.

Blight knocks on our door around 7 am, Eila stays where she is but I get up to answer it.  
“I’m so sorry, kid,” he says. I grind my teeth. “We’re getting in soon, you’ll both want breakfast before we get there. You don’t want her fainting.”  
“Alright.” I swallow, “I’ll get her up.”

I hate the fucking Capitol and their fucking cameras. I hate them with everything I’ve got, and as we get off the train I make sure they fucking know it. I glare straight ahead, don’t look at anyone. Don’t smile, don’t give an inch. Eila walks next to me, her arm linked in mine hopefully doing the same. ‘No fear,’ I told her before we left, ‘no tears. We’re fucking angry, okay?’ She just nodded. I haven’t figured out our strategy yet, but I know that faking sweet won’t work.

The tributes meet the stylists on their own. Fran isn’t a great stylist but she’s as alright of a person as a capitol dimwit can be, and that puts my mind at ease. I go with the rest of the mentors into the lounge. I’m the only first-time mentor. Of course, I know all of them at sight, and they know me, but I have no interest in getting to know them. Finnick Odair is flashing his stupid white teeth at Cecelia and Haymitch Abernathy and Chaff are already at the bottle. I feel a pang at the thought of my mother. A hush falls on the room as they notice me. An awkward, horrible silence.  
“Oh get the fuck over yourselves,” I say, “don’t you have your own miserable lives to pity?” They take the hint and get back to their conversations.

I meet Eila at the carriages. Fran actually hasn’t done a terrible job this year. She’s a tree, of course, but her long auburn hair is plaited into an intricate nest on top of her head with a small stuffed bird perched on the edge. Her dress reaches the floor and is dappled, like sunlight filtering through trees. Her makeup is minimal. She looks like a forest nymph, like the ones from the Greek myths she tells me about.  
“You look beautiful,” I say. She doesn’t say anything, just squeezes my hand.  
“You cut your hair again,” Fran clucks at me, “I told you, your face looks softer when it’s long,”  
“Why do you think I cut it?” I retort and she just clicks her tongue. It makes Eila smile, just a little, and I’m glad. The boy tribute, Red, looks excruciatingly awkward to be standing next to us. He’s only 15. Suddenly I feel so terrible for him. For all of us. “Good luck,” I tell them both. Fran takes me to my seat.

“Johanna Mason, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Finnick Odair lilts in my ear. I ignore him. “And I’m genuinely sorry about your girl,”  
“Leave me alone, Finnick.” I cross my arms and scan the crowd. I may not want to simper, but I will need sponsors. Some of these people must have liked my Games, how do I know which ones?  
“Tip from the top, when it comes to sponsors, you want to go for the ones with the least sparkle. The more ridiculous their hair and makeup, the poorer they probably are,” he tells me.  
“None of them are poor,”  
“No, but some are richer than others.”  
I don’t say anything but I’m secretly grateful for the tip. The carriages start coming, District 1 sparkling in pastel pinks and blues, 2 in some ridiculous kind of bear skins holding spears.  
“Which one’s yours?” I ask Finnick as District 4 appears in rippling green and blue tulle. “The girl,” Finnick says, “Annie Cresta.”


	3. The 71st: 2

“We’re not playing it shy, it won’t work,” I tell Eila over breakfast, “they won’t believe it. So we’ve got to show them you’re ruthless and strong and not afraid,”  
“But I'm not ruthless or strong and I’m terrified,” she responds tiredly.  
“you'd be surprised at how much you can learn in training,” I press on, “try to make allies with people, if you can get in with the careers—”  
“When has a 7 ever got in with the careers?”  
“I’ll talk to Finnick,”  
“Jo,” she says softly and I shake my head,  
“Stop it, stop acting like it’s all over, it’s not over.” She says nothing and I get up and walk to the window.  
“I need you,” I choke out, “you made me promise I’d come back to you and I did, I did everything I did so that I could come back, so that we could have a life together. I—” I break off and turn to her, unable to stop my tears. She comes over and puts her arms around me.  
“Okay,” she says, “I’ll try, Jo, I promise I’ll try,”

The interviews are the worst part before the Games, having to talk niceties with Caesar fucking Flickerman the night before you’re sent to die. 1 and 2 are idiot meatheads as always, all brawn with no brains. Annie Cresta seems a sweet girl, if a little awkward and spacey. The careers will let her in and then hunt her for sport, Finnick must know that.

“Eila,” Flickerman says with genuine warmth, “we’ve known you for a little while longer than the other tributes. We fell in love with you, during the last games, as Johanna Mason's girl. Tell is, what’s it like being mentored by a lover?”  
Eila smiles, “wouldn’t you like to know?”  
“Oh!” Caesar cheers and the crowd laughs, “fair enough, my dear, what happens in mentoring stays in mentoring.” He uncrosses his legs and leans in close “But how are you feeling? Having just seen Johanna win, and what a win it was, to now get your own chance to prove yourself?”  
“Well Caesar, I think I have an advantage, I know from a firsthand account what it’s actually like in the arena, I know the signs of dehydration, starvation, I come from a long line of storytellers, which means I know which facts are important to retain and which won’t matter,”  
“That sounds like you’d be a great asset to any allies,” In this moment I’ve never loved him more.  
“I hope so,” she agrees.

“You did well,” I assure her as she joins me by the elevators, “I’m sure you'll get more sponsors, with your 8 in training we’ve got a good amount already, and Flickerman selling you as a good ally, that's exactly what we-”  
“Jo?” she interrupts me, “can we not talk about it? Can we pretend it’s not happening? You’ve done all you can and I’ve promised to do my best. Can you please spend tonight as my girlfriend, not my mentor?” I look into her tired green eyes and I nod,  
“Yeah,” I say, “Okay,”

We go up to her room in silence. She leans against me and I squeeze her hand. I make us a cup of tea and we sit on her bed facing each other. We don’t say goodbye. We don’t say anything much. Eventually we decide to lie down but neither of us can sleep. She traces my face with her hand as if she's trying to memorise it. 

“I love you, Jo,” she whispers when she thinks I'm asleep, “I wish we could've had forever.”


	4. The 71st: 4

It’s grey and raining when they come to wake us up. It always seems wrong when it rains in the Capitol. I’m surprised they let it rain, I would have thought they’d have chemicals or something to stop it. When she hugs me goodbye I’m too choked up to say anything, we just hold on until they have to physically separate us. Eila presses something into my hand just as she is pulled away. I open my fist to see a simple wooden ring. It's a district 7 marriage ring, engraved with an ivy pattern on the outside, a symbol for a long lasting partnership, it was her grandmother’s. I let myself fall to the floor.

All of the mentors look tired, except Cashmere and Gloss. Maybe they're so convinced their tributes will win they don’t lose sleep over it. Or maybe they genuinely believe it’s an honour for them to die in the arena. No one wants to make eye contact with me. Good. 

I sit down in one of the padded armchairs and hug my knees to my chest, trying to ignore my racing heart. Suddenly the screen comes to life, showing us the arena. A river runs through the middle of a clearing surrounded by trees, the cornucopia is bronze and shimmering in the sunlight. It doesn't look unlike 7, which is reassuring. Then the tributes start coming up and I can’t concentrate on anything other than Eila. Fran has tied her long hair up in an elaborate plait that will hopefully hold and keep it out of her way, she looks nervous but in control of herself. My heart aches to be with her, to take her away from here, from the capitol, the districts. The inside of my cheek is bleeding again. The countdown starts and I think I might actually pass out, or throw up, or both. My skin feels all wrong and I have a pounding headache. Blight comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. Usually I would shake him off and curse him out but I let him keep it there, it helps. I put the finger wearing her grandmother’s ring to my lips and send a prayer to one of the ancient gods she talks about in her stories. 

Before I know it, the gong rings and Eila throws herself towards the cornucopia, she’s spotted what I spotted, a glinting axe. She might be a merchant’s daughter who never had to work much, but she can wield an axe almost as well as I can. She reaches the axe at the same time as Red, the boy tribute from 7. Blight’s hand tightens on my shoulder as we brace for them to fight over it, but before Eila can raise her fist, a knife lodges in the back of Red’s head and he crumples to the ground. The boy from 3 takes back his knife and looks at Eila, “if you survive this, you’re with us.” Eila nods and picks up the axe. I shoot a glance at Beetee and Wiress who nod cordially. 

Everything in the bloodbath happens so fast I can barely keep track of anything, but thankfully the cameras love Eila. I’ve never been grateful for them before but right now the Capitol’s thirst for drama is the only thing that’s letting me know how she is. I can’t look away as her axe drives through the neck of the district 8 girl, covering her pale, freckled face with blood spatters. Finally the fighting slows, all the careers and Eila stand panting, surveilling the bloodied, broken bodies of the fallen tributes.  
“Okay,” the District 1 girl, Scarlett grins, her teeth and nose bleeding, “let’s set up camp.” She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve. They start to look through the backpacks, find food, water, it’s a great haul, better than most years. That makes me suspicious. “The river is saltwater,” Annie says and the District 4 boy, Brine, nods.  
“That’s why they gave us water,” Eila says, “it’s unusual for the cornucopia to have water,”  
“Alright, so we have to be careful with water,” Scarlett, the implicit leader decides. 

Before long they have organised everything and set up their camp. The hovercrafts come to take the 11 bodies. Haymitch, Blight, and Chaff, no longer having anyone to mentor, leave to get drinks. As things settle down for the night, Cashmere and Gloss, along with Brutus and Enobaria decide to go too, leaving me with Finnick and Mags, and Beetee and Wiress. 

“Eila and I will keep first watch,” Annie says, and I’m surprised by her initiative. The careers agree, they aren’t scared of being killed in their sleep by the weakest of the pack. It’s almost peaceful, the only sound is the rushing of the river and crackling of the fire. The sleeping careers just look like kids.  
“Thank you, Annie,” Eila says in a low tone.  
“What for?”  
“For taking me in, for being… I don’t know… human?”  
“We’re all human.” Annie pokes a stick into the dirt repeatedly.  
“Are we? I don’t feel human, not out here, not after what I did today” Eila almost whispers.  
“No,” Annie agrees, “I guess not.”  
“I didn’t think I’d even make it this far,” Eila admits, “I promised Johanna I would try my best but— I don’t know.”  
“Me neither,” Annie says, “I considered stepping off the plates early.” There’s complete silence in the room, I can imagine it all over the Capitol. The breaths being held, in horror or glee.  
“I’m glad you didn’t.” Eila reaches out a hand and Annie takes it. Finnick and I catch each other’s eye and then look away. They won’t show this in the reruns.


	5. The 71st: 5

I wake up in the chair sometime around 4 am. I'm alone in the mentor's lounge. Annie and Eila have passed on their watch to the boys from one and two. The cameras change to show the other tributes, the boy from 8 is shivering leaning against a tree. The girl from 6 is sleeping curled up under a bush. Most of the Capitol is asleep around this time so the Gamemakers leave them alone.

The cameras change back, lingering on Eila’s sleeping face. I realise I’m not actually sure what her last words to me were. Whatever they were, it doesn’t matter, I remind myself, because they won’t have been the last. She washed her face and hands of the blood but here and there spatters are left on her face. There’s also a fresh cut running from her temple to her chin. I didn’t see how she got it. I wish the cameras would change again. The idea of Capitol citizens watching my girlfriend sleep makes my skin crawl. 

Finnick wakes me around 7. It won’t be long until there’s another fight, the other tributes need food and water, and they know the only place where they can get it. The girls from 9 and 6 and the boy from 8 have formed an alliance. They’re preparing for an attack on the careers. Cecelia managed to get them some bread and a small bottle of water, so they’re stronger than the careers will be expecting. The girl from 6 is handy with her sword,dangerous. I feel the depth of my uselessness, only being able to watch. 

Eila, Annie, Brine, and the boy from 3, Zephyr, are the only ones at the cornucopia when the allies prepare to attack, the rest have gone to hunt the boy from five who had managed to steal some water while District 1 were on watch. There’s a tense energy in the air, and every now and then a clap of thunder threatens rain. I watch, holding my breath as the allies storm out of the trees. Eila, Brine, and Zephyr react immediately, jumping to pick up their weapons, but Annie is caught off guard and left defenseless. Finnick jumps to his feet as if there’s something he can do. The girl from 6 swings her sword and Finnick yells out Annie’s name. I’m certain she's a goner but then, in a moment of district solidarity I can't understand, Brine’s head is taken clear off his body as he jumps in front of her. Annie screams, high pitched and horrible, so loud you can hear it over the cannon. She scrambles to her feet and takes off running. Zephyr’s knife hits the boy from 8 square in the forehead. The remaining allies take what they need and run. That’s when the cameras pull out and I see it, see her.

Eila. 

Eila clutching at a gaping wound in her side. She kneels on the ground, her breath shallow. I see her lips form my name, too weak to make a sound. The cannon sounds.


	6. The 71st: 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emetophobia warning

I can’t breathe.

I need to get out. 

I push my way out of the door and get to the roof just in time to vomit. I haven’t eaten much so nothing comes up but bile that burns my throat and makes my tongue feel thick and gross. I take deep shuddering breaths but it’s not helping. I think I might die. 

I hope I die. 

Finnick comes out behind me. “Jo, I-”  
I whirl around and slap him, “don't fucking call me Jo.” He puts his hand to his cheek. My entire body feels like it's on fire. “Did you sleep with her?” I demand and he looks perplexed. “Annie, did you sleep with her?”  
“What? No! Jesus, Johanna, No!”  
“Then why the fuck do you care so much? Why are you bothering? She doesn’t have a chance in hell and you know it!” I vomit again. He tries to put a hand on my back but I slap it away. “Fuck off!” I yell at him. He does.

I sit on the cold stone roof, pull my knees up to my chest and sob. When she first told me the story of Theseus and Ariadne, I thought I was Theseus. I was sent to defeat the Minotaur and I had won. And then Theseus hurt Ariadne, the girl who loved him, the reason he survived, the way I thought I would inevitably hurt Eila. But I realise now, as sobs wrack my body, I am entirely alone in the world. I am Ariadne. And I hate Eila for leaving me.


	7. The 71st: 7

I didn’t realise I had fallen asleep until I find myself being woken up. For a second I’m confused, and my bones ache from lying on the cold stone, but then I realise. I recoil from the hands shaking me. “Easy, kid.” Blight raises his hands in surrender, “I'm not gonna hurt you.”  
“Go away,” I tell him, “please leave me alone,”  
“I can’t,” he looks pained, “Snow wants to see you.”

A peacekeeper escorts me through the halls to Snow’s office. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and almost jump. I look awful. My skin is so pale and the bags under my eyes are so dark I look like a ghost. My short spiky hair is sticking out at all angles making me look like I’ve been electrocuted. 

“Johanna Mason,” Snow smiles without any life in his eyes, “thank you for coming at such short notice.” he indicates for the Peacekeepers to leave. “Do sit down,” he says to me. I do.  
“I’m incredibly sorry for your loss,” He says and then pauses expectantly. He wants me to thank him, I realise. “Thank you, Mr. President,” I manage. The words feel like poison on my tongue. “To lose your mother and then dear Eila, it's just tragic.” He pauses again but I don’t know what he wants me to do. “I wonder, Ms Mason, do you remember the conversation we had after your coronation?” I try to remember, but my thoughts are so jumbled. I shake my head. “I told you about how some victors, the ones who are particularly… desirable, are expected to offer certain… services,” a jolt goes through me,  
“I remember, sir,” I say.  
“Well, you made it quite clear you wanted no part in it, did you not?” I don't say anything. “You see, my dear, I think that decision was a tad rash, perhaps one that, under the circumstances, you are regretting?” I don’t understand what he’s saying. “What was it your mother had?”  
“She was sick,” I say. I realise I don’t actually know exactly what it was.  
“Yes.” he nods, “yes, and do you know something about the reaping, Ms Mason?” My blood runs cold, he can’t be saying, it couldn’t be that--  
“No one questions it.” He answers his own question, smiling slightly.  
I jump to my feet, knocking over my chair with a bang. The Peacekeepers come back in but Snow doesn't seem worried. “You aren’t going to do anything rash again, are you Ms Mason?” I lunge forward and the Peacekeepers catch me by my arms, holding me back.  
“I will ask you again, Johanna, to do as I ask, and I hope your answer will be more favorable this time.”  
I spit on the carpet in reply. The peacekeeper’s hands tighten around my upper arm.  
“You’ll have to kill me, sir,” I say, “There’s no one else left for you to kill.”  
“I won’t kill you, Johanna,” Snow says softly, “but no tribute from 7 will win the Games as long as you live.”


	8. The 71st: 8

The city sparkles like something from a fairy story. It shimmers and glitters in a way that doesn't quite look real. I wonder for a second if I’m dreaming, but my dreams aren’t like this. They’re darker, more confusing. I don’t feel confused now. I am Theseus. I killed my mother. I killed the girl who loved me. My hands grip the railing so hard I feel like I could snap it in half. I look down but I don’t feel dizzy or scared. I feel calm. “No tribute from 7 will win the Games as long as you live.” Snow’s voice echoes in my head. Fine. I take one last breath.

“Careful, kid,” Haymitch says behind me, I hadn't heard him come onto the roof. “I don’t think you want to do that.”  
“You don’t fucking know what I want, Haymitch,” I say, not turning to face him.  
“I think you want to kill yourself, and I’m telling you, that’s not the way to do it.” A small piece of gravel flies past my ear, and then bounces back up again. A force field, of course. I feel stupid. “You think they’d let us up here, you think they’d let the tributes up here, and not find a way to stop us from jumping?” I don’t say anything, Haymitch laughs. “You know I won my Games using the forcefield.” he takes a drink from his bottle. “I made them look like fools,” he smiles and shakes his head. “and they killed my family for it. My mom, my little brother, and my girl, Julie.” He takes a swig from his bottle and offers me some. I shake my head. “But they made a mistake. With me, with you, if I’m not mistaken, they took everything. You know what’s dangerous about you and me?”  
“We have nothing left to lose.”  
“Exactly. They can’t tell us shit anymore. Finnick, he’s got a family the size of district 12, Cecelia’s got what? 3 kids? Even Blight has a wife. You and me? The only thing left to do is kill us and believe me, that is more trouble than it’s worth. So they give us parts to play, I’m a ridiculous drunk, and you are a stroppy teenage girl and neither of us is more harmful to society than a fly.”  
He takes another drink, “you sure you don’t want any?” I shake my head again. “Suit yourself.”  
I don’t tell him about how my mom told me never to start drinking in a difficult time, because chances are I’d never stop. I wonder if he’d laugh. Johanna Mason, listening to her dead mom. Haymitch laughs again and looks at me.  
“What?” I ask.  
“Nothing,” he says, “you got Finnick really good, that’s all. You should’ve seen his face when he came back in.” I try to suppress a smile. We stand for a minute longer and then Haymitch clears his throat, “I’ll see you, kid,” he says. 

And then I’m alone again. Just me and the sparkling city. It’s not real. None of it is real. It’s a pretty facade for all the dark dealings and scandals and corruption, that’s all. Like that city in that old story Eila loved, except I can’t click my heels to go home because I don’t have one.


	9. Part Two, The 74th: 1

My district hates me. I can’t say I blame them. This is my 3rd year mentoring and I sit at the reaping leaning back in my chair as if I couldn’t care less. I look out at the parents, holding each other, or standing stoically on their own. Two of their children will be dead in under a month. There hasn’t been a victor from seven since I won. There’s nothing I can do about it really, only one out of 24 can survive. The kids are scared of me, they think I’m going to be temperamental and mean. Maybe that would be better. Instead, I as good as ignore them. 

Blight and I walk the weeping tributes to the train, the girl must be 16 and the boy can’t be older than 14. I feel a pull in my heart but I don’t try to cheer them up. What is there to do? They’ve just been given a death sentence that is, in part at least, my fault. 

I watch the rerun of the reaping, when it gets to 7 I feel almost proud of how unaffected I look. It’s a mixed lot this year. I try to imagine the careers against the little girl from 11. It’s not a fair game. Finally it’s 12’s turn, Haymitch staggers on stage, late as always. Somehow 12 is always the worst. They look so miserable, so weak. The tributes know they don’t have a chance, never did. The girl tribute is another 12 year old. I consider going to my room, I don’t want to see the rest. But then, another girl, dark haired and wild with anxiety, pushes her way past the peacekeepers and stands in front of the little girl. “I volunteer!” She shouts desperately, “I volunteer as tribute!”  
“Now that’s something,” Blight says leaning forward in his chair. I hum in agreement, my eyes fixed on the girl. She’s thin but there’s a strength to her, a look in her eyes that means she could never really look weak. She says her name, Katniss Everdeen and Effie Trinket makes some quip about her not wanting her little sister to take the spotlight. Effie asks for applause and I roll my eyes but the citizens of district 12 do something else. A salute. Kissing the first three of their fingers to their lips and raising them to Katniss. I run my forefinger along the wooden ring Eila gave me, a feeling of danger and excitement running through me. Then Haymitch stumbles across the stage and insults the cameras, I grin. He feels it too, what 12 just did… I look at Blight, the slightest smile is playing on his lips.

Finnick greets me in the mentors lounge, he's the first one there. “Who’re you mentoring with this year?” I ask.  
“Mags,” he says.  
“Jesus, will she ever catch a break? She’s been doing it for 60 years,”  
“She offered so that-  
“So that Annie wouldn’t have to, I know.”  
Finnick looks away uncomfortably.  
“How is your girlfriend, anyway? Still crazy?”  
“Still traumatised.” He doesn’t take the bait. He never does. I wonder, if Annie had died and Eila had won, would he have been an asshole about it like me? Probably not. But then again he wasn’t in love with Annie yet. 

Haymitch comes in and I’m surprised when I’m not immediately affronted with the stench of alcohol. He looks different, somehow.  
“Johanna,” he says, “Finnick,”  
“What’s up with you?” Finnick asks, incredulous.  
“Nothing,” Haymitch says.  
“You think you’ve got a chance,” I say, “you think the girl has a chance.”  
“Maybe she does,” he responds, “there have been more unlikely winners.” He says, mostly to Finnick, who nods.  
“You got a new stylist, right?” I ask Haymitch.  
“Cinna, he’s got good ideas.”  
“I swear Fran’s designs get worse every year, but at least she lets me do what I want,”  
“Everyone lets you do what you want,” Finnick, who’s shirt is always half unbuttoned and hair is always perfectly gelled, says somewhat bitterly, being the Capitol darling comes with a price. I don’t tell him the price of my freedom, he knows.

Fran does try to get me to wear some makeup but I slap it out of her hands, “I don’t give a fuck what the cameras can pick up on,” I tell her. She mutters something about how I’ve always been her least favourite. I roll my eyes and go to find my seat. “Good luck!” I yell at the tributes, not bothering to turn around to face them. If I look at their faces too closely they show up in my nightmares. Another addition to the long line of people I’ve killed. 

The Opening Ceremony is predictable as always, District 1 in bright pink flounces, 2 in bronze. But when 12 comes into sight the crowd gasps, I almost gasp myself. So this is what new ideas look like, setting your tributes on fire before they even get in the arena. That’s not all though, there’s something else different about them. “They’re holding hands,” Finnick says as if he can read my mind. They raise their hands in the air like in a symbol of victory, the crowd loves them, they're cheering their names. The Capitol cheering for District 12. I look at Haymitch, he’s grinning like a madman. There’s a first time for everything

“Holding hands,” Enobaria scoffs, “it’s the Hunger Games not a fucking beauty pageant,”  
“You’re so right, Enobaria,” I say, “that’s why they don’t dress them all up and parade them out in front of the entire Capitol.”  
“I think it’s about time for some real District solidarity,” Cecelia says, and she looks like she might actually tear up, “I thought it was beautiful, Haymitch.”  
“You’re not pregnant again are you, Cecelia?” Cashmere scoffs, “it was sentimental dribble.”  
“It’s not like they’re going to win, anyway,” Brutus says as if that closes the subject. Haymitch says nothing, just smiles to himself. Even if they don’t win, this is the most excited talk I’ve ever heard in the mentor’s lounge, usually we’re all too depressed, or angry, or drunk, or for some, all three. Even if they don’t win, District 12’s tributes on fire have made us all feel something.


	10. The 74th: 2

Part 2  
I barely talk to my tribute at all. She spends most of her time crying anyway so I think it was probably a lost cause. Whatever you have to tell yourself, right? 

The mentor’s lounge continues to be interested in debating over Katniss and Peeta’s strategy.  
“I mean really Haymitch, do they have to do absolutely everything together, it's embarrassing!”  
“My tribute says they don’t do anything particularly well, all camaraderie and no ability is it, Haymitch?”  
“A bit of friendliness never killed anyone, Brutus, besides, careers pal up all the time! What? Because they're District 12 they're supposed to miserably accept their fates?” Finnick says on day two of training, shutting everyone up for a while.

The training scores throw us all into turmoil again. Everyone wants Haymitch to explain how the hell Katniss Everdeen got 11 points, but he doesn’t budge. “You’ll have to tune into the Games,” he says smugly. “Also,” he says, just as he’s leaving, “I wouldn’t miss the interviews.”  
“What has gotten into him?” Finnick asks incredulously, “he’s practically giddy!”  
“Hope,” Chaff answers, “It’s a powerful thing.”

For once, I sit in my assigned for the interviews, rather than skulking around in the background. If new Hopeful Haymitch is telling us not to miss them, who am I to disagree. I find, recently, that I have more respect for Flickerman than I ever did when he was interviewing me. Maybe because I think it’s because of him that Eila even survived the bloodbath, or maybe because I think, under all the Capitol bullshit, he is genuinely trying to be kind to these kids. He even coaxes a smile out of my watery eyed tribute. I’m impatient for them to get to 12, it's the usual lot, cocky bastards in 1 through 4, mostly forgettables in all the rest. The red haired girl from 5 is clever and even makes me laugh, I think her refusal to give in to Caesar’s charm reminds me of myself. Rue, the little girl from 11 makes the whole audience sigh as if their hearts are breaking. I’ll never understand the performance of distress the Capitol puts out. If they didn’t want to watch 12 year olds get murdered they should have made the age of eligibility higher. Or stop holding the Games all together, which they won't do because they don't actually give half a fuck. Sometimes I'd like to see the tables turn, see their kids thrown into an arena to die. Maybe they'd stop fake sighing then.

Finally, Katniss appears in a dress so covered in jewels my first thought isn't even of it’s beauty, but how fucking heavy it must be to wear. It is beautiful though. Every move she makes makes the crystal flames leap and dance. While the dress is spectacular, the interview itself is a disappointment. She talks about the food, elicits another heartbroken sigh from the audience when she mentions her little sister, and then twirls. I look at Haymitch, tilted forwards in his seat, expectant. Whatever it is he’s looking forward to, it’s not coming from the girl on fire. 

The boy on fire takes the stage, at this point if he doesn’t deliver something good I will hit Haymitch. Peeta and Flickerman crack jokes for the first minute, I focus more on Haymitch than I do the actual interview. When Flickerman brings up a girl from home, Haymitch tenses. Peeta plays it bashful. Who is his sweetheart? Some minor District 12 celebrity?  
“I don’t think winning’s going to help me at all,” Peeta says and I realise before he says it, “Because she came here with me.”

It doesn't take long for them to find all the star crossed lovers of the Hunger Games and mine and Eila’s names are on every list. They replay her interviews from when I was in the Games and I can’t look away. She was so nervous, her hands trembling as she repetitively ran her fingers through the same length of hair. I notice her ring, now mine and and clench my fist. I should turn it off. Should get some sleep, I have to be up for the start of the Games tomorrow but I can’t bring myself to. I fall asleep to the sound of Claudius Templesmith talking about a Romeo and Juliet double suicide in the 45th Games, and dream of mazes and minotaurs, in which I am the minotaur.


	11. The 74th: 3

Part 3  
My mother may have warned me from alcohol, but she never said anything about coffee. She should have. My hands are jittering from having one cup too many trying to stay awake this morning. “Morning, sunshine.” Finnick flashes me his professional smile.  
“Not in the mood, Finnick.” I scowl.  
“When are you ever?”  
Before I can respond, Haymitch comes in and I turn away to face the empty screen. “Man of the hour!” Woof says, “Your tributes are the talk of the town, Abernathy.”  
“Gone are the days of District 12 slipping into oblivion,” Finnick says.  
“Yeah, yeah,” Haymitch waves them away, “lets see if they can survive the fucking bloodbath first.” 

For a second I think the girl on fire might actually die in the bloodbath over a backpack, that would put an anti climactic end to any and all of my interest in these Games. But she gets away with a free knife to boot. My weepy tribute is dead in minutes, and Blight’s follows not long after. 

These Games are slow. Peeta joining the careers was unexpected, as is the little girl from 11 lasting this long, but other than that I tune most of it out. Haymitch is a changed man, barely drinks, constantly chasing after sponsorships. It’s thrown everything in the mentor’s lounge out of balance. It's as if I were to come in wearing a bright pink tutu. Everyone’s tenser than normal, everyone with tributes still alive is thinking that if a girl from 12 has a chance, anyone does. Even the careers aren’t so cocky anymore. Maybe everyone does love an underdog.

On day five it gets interesting, Katniss taunting the careers is satisfying, and the trick with the tracker jackers is brilliant, but Peeta, Peeta is what sets the Capitol alight.  
“It's not like district fellows have never sacrificed themselves for the other before,” one bored presenter drawls, “I don’t see the big fuss.”  
“Oh have a heart,” the other pleads, “it’s romantic, poor boy.” She sighs dramatically. She’s right about ‘poor boy’. Peeta, with a massive gash in his leg, hiding on the bank of a river, is not long for this world. That’s when the idea for the rule change starts.

The Capitol is divided, the Gamemakers, while nervous, are thrilled, the mentors are in shambles and everyone who can be asked to is doing an interview on the matter.  
“Will you please just do this one interview?” Esme, the new district 7 escort, pleads. Gorge was replaced after my conversation with Snow, presumably out of fear that I would out that they rigged the reaping. “You haven’t done an interview in 2 years, Johanna, and this is one is important!”  
“It’s not important, Esme! None of this is important! Whether I say yes or no doesn’t matter!”  
“I have been very patient with you, I never ask you to do anything, please will just do this one thing for—”  
“I’ll do it if Haymitch wants me to,” I interrupt her. Haymitch’s head snaps up and he looks at me surprised. Then he nods once.  
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll do it.”

It’s weird, being prepared for an interview again after all this time. The prep team smooths out my skin and lines my eyes with subtle greens and golds, they do their best with my hair but I cut it the way I do, short and uneven, so that it is practically untameable and there isn’t time for extensions. I look in the mirror and my stomach lurches. I look stunning, fierce. I look the way I looked on my victory tour. I’m dressed in a simple black dress, middling in length with an uneven hem. I made it very clear to Fran I would not wear anything flashy. Because they’re trying to emphasise the star crossed lovers thing, the only jewellery I wear is Eila’s ring. 

Flickerman says how nice it is to see me again as the cameras are set up and the mics installed. I force a smile in response.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen we have a very special guest with us tonight, please welcome Johanna Mason!” I smile and wave the way Gorge taught me for my Games. “Thank you so much for having me Caesar,” I say.  
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been a guest on our show, I was starting to worry you were never coming back.”  
“Well, here I am.” I smile but don’t wave, keeping my back as straight as I can.  
“Here you are indeed and what a time to make a comeback!” The crowd cheers. “Let’s cut to the chase, there has been a lot of talk recently about a certain undecided rule change, a lot of grumbling but a lot of support, too, where do you stand on the matter?”  
“Well Caesar I think it’s thrilling, don’t you? The Hunger Games have been going for 74 years now and the rules have stayed completely the same throughout. I say, why not switch it up? If you can find a new hair colour every year for the last, how many years has it been?” Caesar pulls a face at the thought of revealing his age so I laugh and shake my head “Since I can remember. I think the rulebook can stand to have a change.”  
“You make an excellent point, Johanna, what do we think?” He turns to the audience, some boo but the cheers overpower them. “Now Johanna, as we all know, there is a personal element to this. You were voted 3rd in our top 5 favourite Star Crossed Lovers of the Hunger Games list, and while the situation is quite different, I wonder, are you seeing yourself in Katniss and Peeta?” I let the question sit for a moment before answering, unsure of how much I want to share. I remind myself what I’m doing this for.  
“I do quite, yes. I think— I mean, young love is such a wild and wonderful thing, and definitely for Peeta, we know he has been in love with Katniss for so long, I can’t believe what it must be like for him to come so close to his love only for her to be snatched away.”  
Caesar makes a pensive humming noise, nodding sadly.

Finnick is waiting for me when I come off stage. I sit down to wipe the makeup off my face and he stands behind me, looking in the mirror with a strange look on his face. “What?” I say finally and he shrugs. “Why did you do that?”  
“I owed Haymitch one,” I say. Finnick doesn't look convinced. “Look, I don’t care if they both die or they both win, it’s the same to me.”  
“Then you’re a better actress than I thought,” he says.  
“Whatever, are you doing one?”  
“An interview? No. I'm not getting involved.”  
“But if you were to? What would you say?”  
He tousles his hair before answering. “I would say that these are some of the most interesting Games in a long time.”  
I roll my eyes.  
“What?” Finnick asks.  
“Nothing,” I say, “I’m just wondering if you’re ever going to pick a side.”  
“There are no sides, Johanna. Trust me. There’s just dead and alive, and I plan to stay the latter.”  
Fine for him.


	12. The 74th: 4

Even I feel a pull at my heartstrings when Rue is killed. Katniss clutching the young girl’s body as she weakens. The song she sings feels familiar, though I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. It's a district song through and through, safe and warm but also sad and haunting. There is a feeling of loss underscoring our entire existence. When Katniss starts collecting the flowers you could hear a pin drop. The camera’s change too late to hide rearranging them around the small body. I can’t help but think of Eila, her careful fingers weaving a flower crown out of the hundreds of daisies and daffodils scattered in the fields. 

I think they announce the rule change to distract from Katniss’s flowers, and boy does it work. The mentor’s lounge is in uproar, and I can only imagine everywhere else is, too. I make my way to the roof. I need a break. From the noise, from the world, from myself.

“Is it real?” I ask Haymitch. “Katniss and Peeta, the great romance. Is it real?” He looks at me with an odd look on his face. “What?” I ask, drawing my cardigan tighter around me against the wind.  
“I’m just surprised,” he says, “Usually I’d thought you’d have made your own mind up.”  
I nod. “Yeah. Well what can I say, my judgement’s clouded on this one,”  
“I get it,” Haymitch says, “kind kid from the good part of town and a stroppy teenager who’s as much bark as she is bite, must feel awful familiar.”  
“Yeah.” I say.  
“Honestly? I don't know,” he says, “I mean Peeta, he’s a great actor, great with words but… there's something to it.”  
“And Katniss?”  
He chuckles, “Who knows what Katniss feels? I don’t think she does.”  
“The Games can do that to you.”  
“The Games can do a lot to you if you let them.”


	13. 12 years after the rebellion

Annie and Ronan are already awake when I get up. “Coffee’s in the pot,” she tells me.  
“Thanks,” I say, but it's more of a grunt than a word.  
“Peeta and Katniss are getting married.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“I’ve already rsvp’d for you.”  
I groan, “I don’t do weddings.”  
“They’re our friends.”  
“I don’t do friends either.” I take a sip of my coffee, she sighs,  
“Of course you don’t, I keep forgetting you moved in with me so that you could be a housemaid.”  
“It’s the dream job,” I say dryly. She rolls her eyes. 

Something I found out living in 4, is that I far prefer the sea to the forest. I’m not much of a swimmer, and I prefer to stay on land but there’s something about sitting in the sand, listening to the waves that makes me feel calmer. My head doctor is thrilled when I tell her this, and recommends I go regularly. I tell her I’ve got fuck all to do all day anyway so I take Ronan down to the beach almost every day. He’s eleven now, and doesn’t really need me to watch him but it’s our thing. 

He’s the spitting image of his father, darting in and out of the waves like his seal namesakes. “Auntie Jo?” He asked me once when he was little and Annie was having a bad week, “why is mom so sad?” I love him, of course, but I don’t know what to do with kids, I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I just told him a story Eila once told me, about an orphan boy with magical powers. He knows almost everything now, about his dad, about the Games, about me. Annie told him. I couldn’t bear to be in the house when she did but afterwards, when I came back in he hugged me. I finally really understood it then, Katniss volunteering for Prim, the attempt at keeping everything bad at bay for someone. I realised that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. 

The journey to 12 is hell, I hate trains. They make me feel like I’m a cow being led to slaughter. I know Annie feels the same. But Ronan loves it, he’s never been on one before and he doesn’t stop looking out the window all day.

Katniss looks beautiful in a simple green dress with primroses braided into her long dark hair. Peeta can’t stop grinning from the moment he sees her. He doesn’t look so bad himself, in a matching green suit and tie. It’s a nice ceremony. There’s something satisfying about it. The once planned grand wedding of the star crossed lovers of district 12 is nowhere to be found, it's just us, family and friends, in a clearing in the woods where Katniss hunts. I hope Snow is turning in his grave.

Afterwards I sit with Annie, watching Ronan play with the younger kids, Gale’s two girls, and Delly Cartwright’s son.   
“Guess the odds were in their favour after all,” I say, only somewhat bitterly. Annie hums in agreement.   
“What about you, Johanna?”  
“What about me?”   
Annie hesitates before saying, “I didn’t know her well but-”  
“You’re right, you didn’t.”  
“But I think she would’ve wanted you to be happy.”   
I don’t say anything.   
“Cressida seems nice,”  
“I wouldn’t know,”  
“You’ve been seeing her for months!”  
“I’ve been sleeping with her,” I correct, “not having conversations.”   
Annie laughs and shakes her head.   
“Besides, it’s over. We’re just too… different. You know what they say, you can take the girl out of the Capitol...” I change the subject, “Speaking of Capitol women, have you met Gale’s wife?” I look at the woman on Gale’s arm, tall, long toffee coloured hair, and a manner of speaking and moving that can only be the result of an upbringing in the Capitol.   
“Yes, her name’s Fionn, she introduced herself to me when she came in, she’s very nice.”  
“Of course she’s nice, she’s never had a reason not to be.”  
She must sense me staring because she meets my eye and smiles nervously. I wonder if she feels out of place, surrounded by district folk and rebels. I hope she does.  
“I’m surprised at Gale, actually,” I say, “I mean I never thought he of all people…” At that moment I am distracted by Cressida making her way towards me.   
“Cressida,” Annie smiles, “how nice to see you again.” They small talk for a while and then Annie excuses herself to go and talk to the happy couple.   
“Cressida,” I say, “how’ve you been?”  
“You would know if you weren’t ignoring me.”  
“I’m not ignoring you.”  
“Oh so you’re just never home when I call?”  
I shrug.   
“Look if you don’t want to see me just tell me.”  
“I don’t want to see you.”  
“Fine.” She turns to go and then stops, looking at me with that hawk’s stare. “I’m gonna move back to the Capitol,” she says, “I’ve been offered a job, a good one.”  
“Congratulations.”  
“I’m making a film about you, the tributes, I mean and their families. I know you’re all sick to death of talking about the Games but this is about after. About recovery. Healing.”  
“Fascinating.”  
“I hope you’ll be in it”  
“Nothing I love more than a Capitol Camera in my face.”  
“Fine,” She says again, and this time she does leave. 

“Cressida’s gonna come in a few weeks for some interviews,”  
“ok, I’ll keep out of your way,”  
“It’s not just about you, you know?”  
“What?”  
“It’s about Eila, too. You’re her only family. You’re her legacy just as much as Ronan and I are Finnick’s.”

I do the interview. 

I hold Cressida’s hand tighter as we pull into the train station at 7. In my mind's eye I see Eila standing on the platform. Waiting for me after my victory tour all those years ago. I wonder what she would look like now and my heart aches. I’m too tired for anger anymore. 

“Are you ready?” Cressida asks as we stand at the gates of the graveyard. I nod. We visit my mother first. Her grave is overgrown with weeds and the name is barely legible on the stone but it stands out from the rest, the ones marked with nothing but wood, or just nothing.  
“We weren’t close.” I say. “I was a shit daughter and she was a worse mother.”  
“Mother’s are complicated.” Cressida says.  
“Yeah.” 

Eila’s grave is sandwiched between the tributes from the 73rd and the 75th. She couldn’t be buried with her family. Even in death she belonged to the Capitol, just another headstone in their collection. I kneel down to place the ivy crown on the soft earth. “You were right,” I tell her, remembering all the nights we spent curled up in front of the fire, all the days in the sun, the stories she would tell, “sometimes you have to make it a happy ending.” Cressida puts a hand on my shoulder and I lean my head on her arm. I made my happy ending.


End file.
